Hi! - My name's Martin. My mum was finally diagnosed with alzheimers about 18 months ago. For at least a year leading up to this, however, it was clear to me that something was wrong. There was only myself around to try and cope with the situation, and I found it very, very difficult to get the help for her that she needed.
I'd never really thought about it before, but I suppose I thought (rather naively) that in these kinds of very serious situations you could just ask for help, and a substantial package of care and assistance would immeadiately swing into place. Yes, hilarious, I know...
I was working during the day, and eventually ended up staying at mum's pretty much full time in the evenings and weekends. Her moods fluctuated wildly, from giddy excitement to tearful anxiety, and grief over my father who had died a couple of years previously. Much of the time as well it seemed that her interest in life was slipping away. All the things that had been part of her normal routine - shopping, cooking, housework, reading, watching tv - fell by the wayside. I had difficulty persuading her to bath, wash, or change her clothes. It was horrible - and to be honest, frightening - to witness.
Naturally I took her to see her G.P on more than one occasion. The only thing I can really say about this is that he simply didn't seem all that interested. His verdict - 'slightly depressed, finding it difficult to adjust to the death of my father.'
So on we went. Within another 3 or 4 months mum was telling me, when I came home from work, that her parents (dead for the last 30 years) had been around to see her. I found that when a loved one finally says something to you that you know proves that they are losing, or have completely lost their grip, it's horrible.
Back we went to the G.P Yes, he finally said, your mother appears to be suffering from some form of dementia.
I made lots of phonecalls trying to find out what kind of help and assistance was available for an elderly, vulnerable lady suffering from a serious degenerative disease. The answer? Not a lot, really. Someone could pop round and make her a cup of tea and a sandwich a couple of times a day, and just generally check she was more or less ok. Better than nothing I admit, but the equivalent, by this stage, of putting a sticking plaster on a gaping wound.
On we staggered. Another couple of months and we were at the stage where she was wandering down the road in her dressing gown, and locking herself out the house at night. I couldn't turn my back on her for a second. There was a serious accident just waiting to happen. Eventually I took the horrible decision that she needed to go into a home for the elderly and mentally infirm. I still feel guilty about it, and will do until the day I die. Sometimes I feel I should have just sold my house, given up work, and just looked after her full time. Partly is was a kind of squeamishness at the thought of giving her the kind of intimate care I knew she was going to need.
Anyway she's been in the EMI home for about 18 months now. I visit her regularly. Sadly, recently I've been getting less and less glimpses of my old mum.
I hate this disease. It's unbelievably cruel. I think that the fact it tends to afflict older people means it doesn't get the public attention it deserves.
Reading back through what I've written I realise that I've really just had a bit of a rant, and there's not a lot anyone could probably say in response, but I feel better for saying it!!!
Regards
Martin
I'd never really thought about it before, but I suppose I thought (rather naively) that in these kinds of very serious situations you could just ask for help, and a substantial package of care and assistance would immeadiately swing into place. Yes, hilarious, I know...
I was working during the day, and eventually ended up staying at mum's pretty much full time in the evenings and weekends. Her moods fluctuated wildly, from giddy excitement to tearful anxiety, and grief over my father who had died a couple of years previously. Much of the time as well it seemed that her interest in life was slipping away. All the things that had been part of her normal routine - shopping, cooking, housework, reading, watching tv - fell by the wayside. I had difficulty persuading her to bath, wash, or change her clothes. It was horrible - and to be honest, frightening - to witness.
Naturally I took her to see her G.P on more than one occasion. The only thing I can really say about this is that he simply didn't seem all that interested. His verdict - 'slightly depressed, finding it difficult to adjust to the death of my father.'
So on we went. Within another 3 or 4 months mum was telling me, when I came home from work, that her parents (dead for the last 30 years) had been around to see her. I found that when a loved one finally says something to you that you know proves that they are losing, or have completely lost their grip, it's horrible.
Back we went to the G.P Yes, he finally said, your mother appears to be suffering from some form of dementia.
I made lots of phonecalls trying to find out what kind of help and assistance was available for an elderly, vulnerable lady suffering from a serious degenerative disease. The answer? Not a lot, really. Someone could pop round and make her a cup of tea and a sandwich a couple of times a day, and just generally check she was more or less ok. Better than nothing I admit, but the equivalent, by this stage, of putting a sticking plaster on a gaping wound.
On we staggered. Another couple of months and we were at the stage where she was wandering down the road in her dressing gown, and locking herself out the house at night. I couldn't turn my back on her for a second. There was a serious accident just waiting to happen. Eventually I took the horrible decision that she needed to go into a home for the elderly and mentally infirm. I still feel guilty about it, and will do until the day I die. Sometimes I feel I should have just sold my house, given up work, and just looked after her full time. Partly is was a kind of squeamishness at the thought of giving her the kind of intimate care I knew she was going to need.
Anyway she's been in the EMI home for about 18 months now. I visit her regularly. Sadly, recently I've been getting less and less glimpses of my old mum.
I hate this disease. It's unbelievably cruel. I think that the fact it tends to afflict older people means it doesn't get the public attention it deserves.
Reading back through what I've written I realise that I've really just had a bit of a rant, and there's not a lot anyone could probably say in response, but I feel better for saying it!!!
Regards
Martin